


We'll be home for Christmas?

by redneterp



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redneterp/pseuds/redneterp
Summary: David and Patrick promised to spend Christmas with Patrick's family. Will a winter storm and highway closures stand in their way?
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	We'll be home for Christmas?

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom. The story idea came to me last week while driving home after the holidays through a terrible snowstorm, but then I got busy and didn't write it down yet. I realized today that if I wanted to get it out there, I needed to do so now before the influx of stories after the season premiere only a few minutes away!   
> This was thus typed up quickly (for some reason, I decided to challenge myself and write in the present tense, too). and given a once-over, please excuse any remaining mistakes.

_Ping …. Ping … Ping._ David ducks his head further into the cocoon of the scarf wrapped about his neck (the effect of a hat on his hairdo would be simply incorrect) to drown out the sound of ice pellets being blown against the car’s windows. He’s huddled inside the car trying to stay warm while Patrick pumps gas at the station in Elm Valley that he’d insisted on stopping at as it’s on average 7 cents a litre cheaper than the gas station on the outskirts of Schitt’s Creek. David had never paid much attention to gas prices, so trusted that Patrick’s calculations were correct, and if he didn’t need to be the one standing outside in this weather, Patrick could buy gas wherever he wanted. 

A moment later, the door opens with a whoosh of wind and Patrick flops into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed before depositing a bag of Twizzlers on David’s lap. 

“Road trip snack, as requested,” Patrick explains. “The guy at the desk said there’s an accident on the 400, it might be closed.”

“Hold on,” David says, pulling out his phone. The morning had dawned bright and clear, but by lunchtime a few snowflakes were gently falling, and while he disapproved of the cold, David could appreciate the aesthetic as they locked up the store just after 2pm. They’d decided to close a couple hours early to allow them to drive down to spend Christmas with the Brewer clan (it was apparently their turn, as Patrick had spent the holiday with the Roses the year prior). By the time they finished the final last-minute packing and had squeezed their luggage and the box of wrapped gifts into the trunk of Patrick’s car, the snow was falling steadily, and it had only worsened as they left Schitt’s Creek.

Patrick turns on the car, cranking up the defrost while David taps away at his phone.

“Ok, so Twitter says…” David begins.

“Oh, Twitter says, it must be true,” Patrick jokes.

“I’ll have you know this is the official provincial highway 511 account. Now, do you want to hear it or not?” David asks.

“Please continue.”

“Ok, this tweet says: #Incident #Barrie #HWY400 SB HWY 89 - HWY 9 - All lanes closed due to overturned transport truck #ONHwys. I think that’s probably it?”

“You’ve memorized the route?” asks Patrick.

“Hmm, I may have google mapped the route, in case you asked me to drive,” David answers with a slight shudder.

“Thanks, babe” - Patrick kisses David’s cheek - “but I think I’ve got it.”

“Thank God, because this” - David gestures towards the swirling snow beyond the windshield - “is not correct, and we would most likely end up in a ditch if I was driving. But can we still make it if the highway is closed?”

“Oh yeah, we can just take some of the smaller highways, it’s not a problem,” Patrick says with confidence.

Three hours later, after one stop for a refill of tea (Patrick) and licorice (David, who had stress-eaten through the first bag of Twizzlers in the first hour), two close calls with snowplows, three texts to Marcy apologizing that they were delayed and wouldn’t be able to help set up for the extended-family dinner, and dozens of refreshes of the road safety Twitter feed and consultations with Google maps, they’re finally in Ancaster. The car crawls slowly along the road up the Escarpment, before making a few final turns that Patrick knows by heart and pulling to a stop in a residential street. 

David squints through the blowing snow to see a house with windows aglow with light, and a collection of cars crowded onto the driveway and spilling onto the street in front of them. “Is this it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Patrick replies, shifting the car into park and turning off the ignition. He takes in and releases a deep breath, but doesn’t move from his seat.

“You did it,” David says, reaching for his fiance. He slides his hand down over Patrick’s beanie and under the collar of his coat to rest his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck. His skin-warmed rings rest against the knobs of Patrick’s spine as he gently massages the muscles with his fingertips, feeling the tight knots therein. “I seriously could not have done that, so thank you for getting us here. Once all of them” - with his other hand, he gestures towards the collection of vehicles presumably belonging to all of Patrick’s many relatives - “are gone, I am going to give you a proper massage.”

“Ooh, a proper massage?” Patrick asks, raising his eyebrows.

“In your childhood bedroom, right next to your parents? Hmm.” David says.

Patrick laughs, and David can feel the muscle tension relax beneath his fingertips. 

“Allright, I think I see Grandma Palmer peeking peeking out the window, we’d better get in there. Ready?” Patrick asks, turning to face David.

David pulls Patrick closer, and leans closer to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay, now I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

And with that, they exit the car, grab the luggage and gifts from the trunk, and dash up the freshly-shoveled walkway. As they step onto the porch the door opens, light spills out, and hands reach out to tug them into welcoming embraces. Patrick and David were home for Christmas at last.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Come say hi on [tumblr.](https://redneterp.tumblr.com/)  
> Kudos/comments warm my frozen Canadian heart.


End file.
